


An Ocean of Space

by annabeth_in_olympus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Percabeth kids - Freeform, percabeth, percabeth adults, percabeth angst, percabeth baby - Freeform, percabeth divorce, percabeth fight, percabeth married, percabeth smut maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2019-11-26 02:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18174569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_in_olympus/pseuds/annabeth_in_olympus
Summary: Percy and Annabeth are in their twenties, divorced, and yet still have to raise their three year old together. Old feelings don't just go away. Set in the canonical demigod world, and as in character as possible. Angst, and more. Multi-chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) I do not know how long this will be, but it will definitely be multi-chapter. b) I KNOW they would never actually get divorced, so please don't say that! The joy of fanfiction is exploring whatever possibilities you want. c) I always try to make them pretty in character, but I do need the freedom to make them fit the story. And I'm still figuring out what this story is :-)  
> d) thanks for reading!

The walk-up to the Jackson-Blofis apartment was so familiar that Annabeth could have done it with her eyes closed. Or fixed to a phone screen, as it was. 

“I sent you that blueprint last night, I know I did and you lost it…” she muttered to herself. “No, don’t bloody call me – Fischer, hi!” She rolled her eyes as she put the phone to her ear. “I actually sent that blueprint over – you didn’t? Well, I’ll resend it later, but I’ve left work and I’m picking up my kid right now, so…oh, well, I do!” She reached the door and knocked quickly. “I’m hanging up, okay?” 

Fischer rushed to keep her on the line, just as the door opened. Sally Jackson ushered her inside, squeezing her arm. Annabeth automatically put a finger to her opposite ear. “I’m hanging up!” she snapped. She cancelled the call and slid her phone away, neck flushing slightly. She tried to minimize the “distracted-workaholic-ex-wife” impression whenever possible. 

Sally closed the door. “You still have your key, right? You know you can let yourself in, sweetheart.” 

“I do.” Annabeth gave a small smile. She never let herself in. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she quickly silenced it. “So, how’d she—” 

_“Mama’s here!”_ The three year old’s shriek came from behind the sofa, where the tangled blond head ducked. Annabeth gave a tiny sigh. Why was it that whenever she came to get Gracie, the toddler ran and hid, and whenever Percy appeared, she shrieked with joy and ran straight into his arms? 

Sally smiled. “She did just wonderfully. And she drew you a picture – she made it very clear that it was ‘for mama’ and no one else.” 

Sally took a messy drawing off the fridge and gave it to Annabeth. Annabeth squinted at the blue crayon marks. It was unmistakably a scene of the ocean. 

An unwanted sensation itched in Annabeth’s throat; she cleared it quickly and put the drawing out of sight in her bag. She noticed, looking up, that Sally was wearing lipstick. “Oh, are you going out?” 

“We are. Estee has a school play this evening.” Sally moved around the little kitchen. “Would you like some tea?” 

Annabeth rubbed her temple. It had been ages – years, possibly – since she’d had tea with Sally. It had been some time since she’d even been in the apartment, and yet Sally, with her warmth and her subtle, easy nature, acted as though it had just been yesterday. 

Annabeth moved to find Gracie behind the couch. “Thanks, but we won’t hold you up. Another time, maybe.” 

Grace was busy on the rug with oversized Legos. They were the precise Legos that Annabeth had brought for Estelle nearly a decade before. 

As Annabeth knelt to help put them in the bin, a door opened in the hall and a pair of feet pattered out. There was a gasp behind her. 

_“Annabeth!”_ Estelle Blofis launched herself at Annabeth, wrapping her nine year old arms around Annabeth’s waist and squeezing with all her strength. Her face was buried in Annabeth’s shirt. “Annabeth, Annabeth, Annabeth…” 

Annabeth laughed a little, but really her heart felt like it was caught in an iron bear trap. “Hi, Estee.” She smoothed Estelle’s long brown hair. “How’ve you been?” 

“Are you coming to my play?” Estelle demanded. “There are still seats left. Lots and lots of them, really…” 

Annabeth straightened up. “Actually, not tonight. Gracie and I’ve gotta hit the road.” 

Estelle bit the inside of her cheek. “Okay…but, will you come over more, now? Please, please. I want to show you the science project I’m doing, and my one-handed cartwheel…” She wandered toward the kitchen and got out some lemonade. “And Bella and I aren’t friends anymore, did you know that?” She looked at Annabeth with a challenging eyebrow raise, gauging her reaction to this prominent news. 

Annabeth finished with Gracie’s shoes and scooped her up. “Nope, I get my news firsthand from you. And I want to hear all of it, okay? We’ll see you soon.” 

She wondered how much of an empty promise it was. She had realized, recently, just how many empty sentences she’d been saying to fill awkward gaps in her life. She’d vowed to fix it, which had led to her saying very little at all. 

Estelle handed her Gracie’s bag. “She made you a picture today, you know. It was a good one.” 

“I know she did, I got it.” Both of them smiled at Gracie, who was entirely uninterested in their conversation. 

“Well, we’re going to get going.” Annabeth edged toward the door, and Sally reappeared. “Thank you as always, Sally.” 

“That’s what we’re here for, Annabeth.” Sally came forward and kissed Gracie. “Bye, Gracie-Lacie. I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

Grace patted Sally on the cheek. “Bye bye, Grandma.” 

It took Annabeth a moment to maneuver everything out the door. As they stepped into the hall, she could hear Estelle saying something indecipherable. And as the door swung closed, she could just make out Sally’s voice: “…have their own life now, baby.” 

The stairway was darker as Annabeth descended, balancing Grace in one arm and the rest of their things in the other.  
.  
.  
.  
The macaroni noodles were just going into the pot when Percy called. 

Annabeth wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder as she stirred the noodles, adjusted the burner, and turned on the stove fan. “Hi.” 

“Hey. Just making sure you were able to grab Gracie.” 

“Yeah.” Annabeth put down the spoon and pushed a damp curl off her forehead. “Yeah, I said I could. We’re home now.” 

“Okay. I – thanks for doing that. I shouldn’t have to work late again next time.” 

“It wasn’t a problem, Percy.” 

“How is she?” 

“She had a great day, she’s…” _Parked in front of Cartoon Network._ “In PJs and reading the Odyssey.” 

“Gods, I didn’t know Scooby Doo taught Homer now.” 

“Yep.” 

Annabeth got out a colander and put it in the sink. “Are you going to Estelle’s play?” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m actually headed there now. I’ll be late, but what else is new.” 

Annabeth was abruptly ready to end the call. “Okay, well I won’t hold you up. We’ll see you on Saturday.” 

There was a considerable pause on his end. She could hear the noise of traffic. “All right, Annabeth. Have…a good week.” 

“You too.” She ended the call and tossed her phone, then turned and poured the steaming pot into the colander. Boiling water splashed across her fingers, drops reaching her wrist. 

_“Shit,”_ she hissed, dropping the pot and wringing her hand. And yet she didn’t rush to run cold water over her burning fingers. She stayed right where she was, watching her skin get redder and more painful by the second.  
.  
.  
.  
“And Estee…and Piper…and Thalia…” Grace curled a finger down as she listed each name. Somehow all her fingers got used with every two names, and she had to open her fist and start again. “And daddy…” 

Annabeth scrunched her nose playfully and leaned down so their heads were together on the pillow. “You already said him.” 

“And mama…” 

Annabeth smiled. “You said us first. Is it ‘cause we love you the most?” 

“You and daddy love me the most?” 

Annabeth nuzzled her nose against Gracie’s cheek. “Yep. Always and forever.” 

Grace regarded Annabeth seriously through her curls. Her big green eyes were often playful or mischievous, but they could take on a familiar solemnness, too. “Love you the most, Mama.” 

She reached for Annabeth’s pinky finger and twined their two together, squeezing tight in the unbreakable way that Annabeth had taught her. 

Annabeth’s heart squeezed. She pressed her lips into her daughter’s hair. “Okay, baby girl. It’s time for sleep.” 

Three hours later (after two songs and a final round of the “list who loves you” game), Annabeth was startled from sleep by panicky cries through the wall. She was there in two seconds, turning on the bedside light and smoothing Grace’s curls off her forehead. 

“Did you have a bad dream, baby? Mama’s here, I’m right here…” 

Gracie blinked confusedly into awareness, scrubbing a little fist through her eyes. “I want daddy,” she sniffled. 

Annabeth leaned backward as if she’d been burned, the force of the words piercing her. She took a deep, shaky breath. “Honey, daddy’s not here right now. You’re at mama’s. We’ll see him soon, okay? Really, really soon.” 

She ended up scooping Grace up and bringing her into the big bed, as happened most nights anyway. Grace nestled close with her head tucked under Annabeth’s arm, just about healing the small hole that had been drilled into Annabeth’s heart minutes before.  
.  
.  
.  
The marriage had lasted only four years. They’d married in June of the summer they would both turn twenty one, in an intimate beach ceremony. Annabeth had worn a summery white dress and no shoes, her hair laced with forget-me-nots and other flowers. None of their friends or family really understood what had gone wrong, or were satisfied with the explanations either side gave. In the end it was collectively agreed that they’d just been too young, and this was the natural fallout of heedless twenty year olds binding their lives together, and the unplanned baby that had followed within a couple years. 

Annabeth stayed busy. She had no choice. At twenty six, she was in the middle of trying to make her career take off, of affording her New York apartment and paying bills alone, of parenting a three year old. She didn’t have time for wistful regrets.  
.  
.  
.  
“I believe this is yours.” Annabeth passed a sleeping Grace over to Percy in the parking lot. It was an old joke from when Grace was a baby – when they were still together – and she wouldn’t stop crying, or would spit up everywhere, and one of them would pass her off to the other, saying “I believe this is yours.”  
He took her easily, the sun making his lean, strong arms glow. He carried Gracie to his car and buckled her into the carseat, all while she slept soundly.  
He turned back to Annabeth and leaned back against the car, hands in his pockets. 

“How’ve you been?” He asked, watching her in a way that said he really wanted to know. He’d been like this lately, more and more. Asking about her, smiling his endearing, reckless smile, dodging fights and making it look easy. Coming in peace. 

The sun was lighting him up; dark jeans, t-shirt, tousled black hair. He still had his SPQR tattoo. At twenty six, he looked perhaps the best he ever had. Add an adorable tangle-haired three year old sleeping on his shoulder, and it was enough to make any girl’s heart weak. She would never, however, get used to the sight of him without his wedding band. She swallowed and crossed her arms against an invisible breeze. 

An old sentence floated to mind. _The sea does not like to be restrained._ A point near her temple gave a dull throb; she’d had a headache for three days. There were so many times, during the messy separation, when she’d wished she could just throw those words at all their friends and family, their people asking questions and prying into their problems. At times it felt like the only sentence that made any sense. Not just the unmoored depths that were inside him, but the titanic ocean of heart and experience and messy beating roughness that crested between them. 

_You cannot make stay what doesn’t want to stay. You cannot crowd the space of what needs space. You cannot tame the ocean._

The mantra had given her an unbidden peace, when she’d needed it. And she needed it now; maybe always. 

_It is what it is. We are what we are._

Annabeth gave a deep sigh. “I’ve been good,” she said quietly. And then, before she could stop and think about it, she stepped in and hugged him – not for long, but brief and quiet and aching, taking in his overwhelmingly familiar and appealing scent. He didn’t seem surprised, but just hugged her back, and then let her go. 

“Take care of our baby,” she said. 

He just looked at her for a long moment, nodded, and then waited until she’d gotten in her car and driven away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me if you'd want more and what you think!
> 
> Find me on tumblr: annabeth-in-olympus


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a super long chapter but a chapter nonetheless.  
> And just to be clear, this takes place before the separation.

**Before.**  
.  
.  
.  
Percy heard the apartment door open and close, but didn’t lift his head off the back of the couch. He could feel the exhaustion behind his eyeballs, drilling deep into his skull, so he almost felt like he was coming down with the flu. His laptop screen had gone dark; his unfinished essay wouldn’t be turned in tonight, after all. 

The baby hadn’t stopped crying for two hours, even after he’d pulled out every last trick in the book. Apparently sometimes they just did that. Apparently it wasn’t his fault. Apparently being a parent could feel like the worst practical joke ever played. 

“Hey!” The sound of her heels on the kitchen floor clacked back and forth. “How was your day?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “So, at the event – you’ll never guess who was there! He’s the _most_ influential…” 

A sharp throbbing picked up in Percy’s forehead. He hadn’t eaten or drank water or even showered. 

“…and liked my ideas! I mean, sometimes they just say these things – but it was so great to get my foot in the door…” Cupboard doors opened and closed. The tap ran and stopped. 

“And gods, I’m just dying to get these heels off…it’s such a _double standard_ , but that’s how it goes…” 

“You’re going to wake her.” Percy didn’t open his eyes. His lips barely even moved. 

“And it’s exhausting, but hopefully, you know, it’ll be worth it—wait, what?” There was a short pause. “Did you say something?” 

“You’re going to wake her up, and I only just got her to sleep again.” 

In the silence that followed, Percy finally opened his eyes. Annabeth stood in the doorway to the kitchen on his left. Her sheer stockinged feet were bare, she was wearing a short black dress and coat, and her hair was coming loose, hanging in disarrayed curls down her back. Somewhere in his abstract mind, he noted how heartbreakingly beautiful she was. The thought came and went. 

Her arms folded. “Well, hi to you too.” 

“Yeah. Hi. Where have you even _been?”_

Her mouth opened. “Where have I—where have I _been?_ Are you kidding? The networking event—I told you!” 

Percy scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, but see, you didn’t. When are you going to get your phone fixed?” 

“Uh, maybe when we have some freaking money? And I did. Okay? I told you last night, and apparently you weren’t listening.” 

Percy got up and walked past her into the kitchen. “Yeah? You told me you weren’t coming home for the billionth night in a row? Because I think I would’ve remembered that. But maybe I should just assume, from now on.” 

Annabeth drew a breath. “Are you kidding me? I have to _work!_ Where the hell is this coming from—?” She stopped, possibly realizing it was a stupid question. 

“Do you have to, though?” Percy turned to face her. “Because your day officially ended hours ago, Annabeth. We both know what time you get off work. You’re _choosing_ to go to these extra events. You’re choosing to not come home.” 

“Oh, my gods. I can’t believe you! We need _money._ I can’t abandon my career for your—for your _comfort_ or ego or—” 

“She’s your DAUGHTER, Annabeth! She’s not an inconvenient career setback, or something you can keep avoiding! She’s your DAUGHTER.” 

There was a beat of silence, and then frantic baby crying erupted from the next room. 

They both remained frozen, staring at each other. Finally Annabeth spoke, her voice both furious and quavering with emotion, clearly near tears. “You think—you think that _what?_ That I don’t love her? That I don’t want this? You think that _I’m_ not entirely fucking exhausted? Because you’re about to leave for work, and then I’ll be here, up with her all night long—don’t you _dare_ imply that I’m a bad mother, or that—that this isn’t the _hardest fucking thing—!”_ Annabeth’s hands went to her temples, tears tracking her face. 

Percy turned away and filled a glass of water from the sink. “Well I’m failing out of grad school because nothing ever gets done, and yeah, I do have to go to work now. Although I might get fired for not showing up twice in the last two weeks, because you decided to go to cocktail parties. Also, the rent is due. Also, if you didn’t hear, the baby is crying.”  
He put down the glass, went and grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.  
.  
.  
.  
“Thanks for taking her.” 

Percy spoke in a low voice, so as not to wake the sleeping baby. 

His mother gave him a long look. “You don’t need to ever thank me, Percy. How was work?” 

There was a short pause. “It was fine,” he said. She didn’t ask any more questions; they both knew he didn’t like his work at the marine lab. It was why he was enrolled in an online graduate program, turning toward a degree in social work. 

Sally smoothed a hand over Grace’s soft hair. “How’s Annabeth?” 

Now there was a longer pause. It was Sunday; Percy worked weekends and some weekday night shifts, while Annabeth worked weekdays and took care of Gracie over the weekend. They were both stretched to breaking point, but childcare was too expensive. Sally and their friends helped how they could, but they had jobs, too. 

That morning, however, Annabeth had woken with a temperature, claiming dizziness and nausea. Percy had still had to work, so he’d taken Grace to Sally. 

“She’s...fine.” He sighed and looked out the window. “I think she’s just tired.” 

He was avoiding Sally’s eyes. He knew there was more to her question than Annabeth’s immediate wellbeing. It wasn’t exactly a secret that they were struggling, in more ways than one. 

Sally considered him. “I think you’re both tired, honey. Listen, one night this week, why don’t we take Gracie for the night, and you can cook Annabeth dinner? Or you could take her out! I think just a little time—” 

“No.” Percy picked up Grace in her car seat. “Not right now.” 

He didn’t want his mother to know how bad things really were. That whatever they needed, it wasn’t a night alone to sit in loaded silence, or fight without the threat of waking the baby. The day before he’d come home to find Annabeth lying on the couch with a hand over her face, while Grace sat in her playpen and cried beside her. “She’s teething,” Annabeth had said before Percy could speak. “She’s teething and I have tried every goddamn thing you’re supposed to try, but she won’t stop.” 

Percy resented that he immediately doubted her; what he was seeing was the opposite of trying. But it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been in similar positions. 

He went to the kitchen. “We put the teething ring in the freezer, remember? It’s supposed to help.” 

He hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so accusing, but that was how it came out. Annabeth didn’t reply. 

While he tried to soothe Gracie, Annabeth had gotten up and started boiling noodles. “The rent is late,” she’d called from the kitchen, voice thick. “The super knocked on our door today. We’re going to have to do something.” The rent in their building had just been raised. They were barely scraping by, with all the bills and expenses. Having a child was more expensive than they ever could have imagined. 

He sighed, sitting on the floor with Gracie and letting her gnaw the teething ring. Annabeth came and stood in the doorway. “Maybe you can take on more weekday shifts at the lab.” 

He looked at her. “And what, exactly, would we do with Grace?” 

She’d lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe your mom can help out.” 

“My parents have to work too, Annabeth. We don’t have childcare.” 

Annabeth had thrown up her hands. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to find a solution so we’re not thrown out on the streets! Maybe you could try to come up with something, for once!” 

He’d looked back at Gracie, face set, trying to swallow the anger that felt so on-surface lately. When you were both this sleep deprived and this stressed, snapping—in any sense of the word—was ridiculously easy. 

They’d barely spoken for the rest of the night. 

Now, Percy took the diaper bag from his mother, who was still looking at him too closely, too quietly, and left before she could say anything else. 

When he got back to the apartment, Annabeth was still in bed. He put Gracie in her crib and went quietly into the bedroom, hovering for a moment in the doorway before going to her side and resting a gentle hand on her forehead. Her temperature seemed to have gone down. 

Her eyes fluttered open. “Hi,” she whispered, pulling the covers tighter to her chest. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

She was quiet. “Okay,” she said finally. Her eyes were trained on the wall. 

Percy withdrew his hand. “Do you need anything?” 

She shook her head. 

Percy wavered. He almost did what his instincts told him; to crouch by her side of the bed, brush back her hair, and tenderly ask what she _really_ needed, how she _really_ was, to call her baby like he used to, to get her to really, actually talk to him. 

He almost did that. But the rest of him just knew he’d be rejected, as usual. The rest of him felt resentment for—well, too many things. So he sighed, grabbed his computer, and walked out, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your response is always so appreciated. I'm trying to keep up with comments on here this time around, and of course you can always find me on tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

A cold chill drifted through the air and Annabeth shivered in bed, pulled hazily from sleep by the drop in temperature. She felt a warm, strong arm wrap around her from behind, pulling her in. Percy nestled his face in her neck, holding her close, one broad hand sliding to rest securely against her flat abdomen. 

She didn’t know if he was awake until he whispered huskily, “You’re going to be such a good mom.” 

Sleepily, she turned to see him. She didn’t say anything; the room was dark and soft, deep in the night. His two-day stubble scratched her skin. 

“Percy…” She whispered, unsure. Was it only because he was half-asleep, that he was saying this? 

“Shhhh…” He pressed his lips into her neck, sleepy and slow, then mouthed his way down, shifting to hover over her, on top of her. His warm mouth, his firm chest, the weight of him felt so good, so comforting in the cold room. When his face was level with her stomach, he stopped, rucking up her loose college t-shirt. 

“Hi, baby,” he whispered against her skin. “You picked the best mama in the world, you know that?” 

Goosebumps shivered down Annabeth’s legs as he continued kissing her abdomen, and then kissed up to her breasts, his strong hands sliding under her clothes, and she thought she’d never, ever feel cold again.  
.  
.  
.  
Annabeth woke with a jolt, confusedly sitting up and pushing back her hair. It was a dream—that was all. But no, that wasn’t all. It had been real, once. It was more than a dream—it was a memory. 

She was alone in the wide bed, the other side cold and neat, the room utterly silent. She turned on the light, knowing she wouldn’t sleep now. After a moment, she got up and wrapped herself in an old flannel, shuffling into the kitchen to make tea. 

She couldn’t shake the dream. That memory, that moment—it had been a pivotal night, at the time. Percy coming around—his surrender, agreement. Even happiness. 

He’d made her feel so alone, when they’d first found out. He’d become withdrawn, petulant, making her feel like it was somehow all her fault and not his. She knew he wasn’t proud of it, later. But it had created a strain that had never entirely disappeared. They hadn’t been ready for a baby—but they had changed to become ready. Somehow they’d lost themselves, and each other, in the process—or maybe that had happened before the pregnancy, when they’d been kids playing house, thinking that just because they’d had to grow up so fast, be in so many adult situations early on, that they could handle _anything._

When, in reality, they’d both still had a lot of growing up to do. There hadn’t been enough transition time—they were teenagers, and then they were married, facing a more serious, demanding adult world than they knew what to do with. 

Annabeth curled onto the sofa, her eyes drifting over to the kitchen wall, the patch next to the fridge where the paint didn’t quite match. Her memory was too free tonight; loose, unreserved images swam and twisted. 

This was the same apartment where they’d lived together, back then. The night when Percy’s fist had smashed through the drywall next to the fridge was suddenly on replay in her mind. He’d been angry about—whatever he’d been angry about. He was angry all the time, and mostly at her. His quiet blame when she’d become pregnant—how was anyone to know that ambrosia and nectar could counteract birth control?—to his frustration at her career, her opposition to keeping house, and the way that motherhood just didn’t come…easily. 

She couldn’t shake the idea that he wanted her to be like his own mother, even when he denied it. A natural at parenting, a wonderful cook, always kind and gentle and nurturing. Annabeth had wanted kids; they’d agreed on it before marrying. But she didn’t want them until she was at least thirty—something Percy had just shrugged neutrally about.  
“Some babies are absolute angels.” A colleague had told her when she was pregnant. “Mine only ever cried when he was hungry or needed changing. Everyone makes a big deal about losing sleep and sex and basic happiness—it’s all exaggeration! You’ll see.” 

And they had seen—the exact opposite. Gracie had cried like it was her only function. She didn’t like to be set down, she didn’t like sleep, she didn’t like normal baby food, she didn’t like strangers—the list went on and on. 

When Percy had punched his hand through the wall next to where she’d been standing, flakes of plaster fluttering down to where their daughter was crawling on the floor, Annabeth could hear only the blood that pounded in her ears. She’d grabbed Gracie, plus a bag of baby things, and told Percy, in a voice shaking with fury and emotion, that she would _not_ live, and she would _not_ raise her daughter, in a house with this kind of violence. 

It was only later that she’d reflected on her own anger that met his—that, maybe, it was equally unhealthy to raise a child in a house with that much hostility, period.  
.  
.  
.  
He’d wanted to go to counseling, and she hadn’t; she thought it was intrusive to let a stranger into their private problems. They could do this themselves, she’d insisted. And then when things got really bad, she’d wanted to go, and he’d refused. By that point, he would barely even look at her.  
.  
.  
.  
“Is she even going to remember this? She’s three.” Percy surveyed the birthday party scene before them in the park; the blankets and balloons, the big pink cake and running children. 

Annabeth laughed, in spite of herself. “No. But she’s having the time of her life.” 

They stood for a long moment and watched Gracie shrieking with happiness, her birthday crown falling sideways. 

Percy looked at her. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked. How’s your dad?” 

Annabeth hesitated. It was bad, wasn’t it, that it had been a while? The parenting books—the ones about divorce and raising well-adjusted kids—said it was bad. At least, she’d decided they did. She hadn’t actually read them. 

They tried to remain on good terms. But it was hard—it was _so fucking hard_ —to act normal when it still felt like she was sticking her finger in an electric socket whenever she saw him. The voltage could feel hell-ish, or…not. Either way, it always felt like something. 

“He’s doing better. They’re going to release him from the hospital soon, so that’s, you know, hopeful.” Annabeth sighed. “I need to get over there to see him. And it’d be good to bring Gracie. Work’s just been…you know, work. It’s hard to get away.” 

Percy was silent. She wondered if he was thinking that this was just like her—unwilling to risk her job, even to see an injured family member. 

But she wasn’t supposed to do this anymore—fill in the blanks with her own assumptions. She had no idea what he was thinking, she reminded herself. And besides—she would be in California in a heartbeat if she was actually needed. She had good judgment. 

Percy shrugged. “Well, you’ve always had good judgment. You’ll know when to go.” 

She looked at him. He was wearing a certain t-shirt that hugged his lean chest just so; in fact, it looked just like a shirt she’d bought for him once, and he’d worn on a certain anniversary—but it couldn’t be, could it? 

She was vaguely aware of other friends and family members looking at them. They hadn’t been seen so public, so civil and normal, standing aside and talking, in ages. She couldn’t help but wonder what all of them were thinking. 

“Excuse me! You’re supposed to be hiding the treasure for the treasure hunt now. Not just standing here like a lame adult.” Estelle was suddenly standing in front of Percy, arms crossed. 

“Uh, first of all, _you’re_ in charge of games, and this is the first I’ve heard of it,” Percy said. 

“Oh sorry, didn’t realize you needed an official itinerary,” Estelle threw up her hands. “Come on, they’re going to get impatient.” 

“There’s nowhere to hide anything. It’s just grass!” Percy looked around, spreading his hands. 

Estelle raised her eyebrows. “They’re three year olds. I think this is all they can handle.” 

“So why don’t you toss candy around, if you’re in charge? I’m occupied.” 

“Occupied talking to Annabeth? You do that every day!” Estelle produced a crumpled paper out of nowhere and smoothed it out to consult. “Right now is when you hide the treasure—well, five minutes ago, technically, because you’re still arguing—and later, Annabeth is judging the cupcake eating contest—” She glanced up. “You should go prepare for that, Annabeth, some of those kids are big eaters.” 

“Wow, thanks for the heads up on our duties, Estee!” Annabeth said, a little alarmed at this unexpected charge. 

“Yeah, I thought we delegated everything to you so we could take it easy.” 

“Very funny!” Estelle stuffed the paper away. “This is hectic business, and you two haven’t been pulling your weight.” 

She looked at Annabeth and pointed. “The cupcakes are that way. They need to be counted twice. I’d go now.” 

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get rid of me? That doesn’t sound like a real job.” 

Estelle frowned. “You’re distracting Percy. He’s not going to do his job if you’re still standing here.” 

Percy ruffled Estelle’s hair as he started toward the treasure pile, looking over at Annabeth and shaking his head as he went. “Such a _distraction.”_

She felt a weird jump in her stomach. Feeling a little warm, she took a deep breath, smoothing back her hair. People were probably still looking.

Well, Estelle was. The nine year old was still there, eyeing her beadily. 

“What is it now?” Annabeth asked. 

“No-thing.” Estee put a hand on her hip, her voice heavy with implication. “Nothing at all.”  
.  
.  
.  
They all knew the party was over once Gracie started to melt down, and then droop with sleepiness once her tears subsided. The day had been a rousing success, filled with sunshine and bossy, well-orchestrated games from Estelle.

Gracie had been plunked on a quilt, sharing her new toys with the others, when the long afternoon started to hit and she’d become discontent, fussing loudly over a shared toy. Before Annabeth could start forward, Percy had suddenly swooped in, tossing Gracie up in the air in the way that always surprised the crankiness out of her. 

“Hey hey hey, Crabby-Cake, let’s go for a walk.” 

And they’d taken a spin around the park, Percy putting her down and swinging her in front of his legs in the way that made her giggle with delight. 

They were so infatuated with each other, even now. He had such a way with her, so much patience. It made Annabeth’s teeth ache. 

And now the shadows were getting longer and most of the toddlers and blankets had been gathered up and packed home. 

“Is Gracie going home with you?” Estee demanded, hanging off Percy’s arm as he put things away. 

“Nope.” Percy stuffed torn wrapping paper in a trash bag. 

“Well, what are we gonna do with all her presents and stuff?” 

Percy looked over at Annabeth. “You didn’t drive, did you?” 

Annabeth stopped folding a blanket. For once, she hadn’t planned very well. “No, I wasn’t coming from—plus, well, the car’s been a little—” She sighed. “No, I didn’t.” 

Percy brought the trash bag to a nearby can, stuffed it in, and scooped a sleepy Grace up in one arm, a box of things in the other. “Okay, I’m driving you home.” 

Annabeth started to protest, but he just walked to the car and began buckling Gracie in.  
.  
.  
.  
It wasn’t a long ride, but even so, Annabeth nearly fell asleep. She hadn’t realized she was tired. She hadn’t realized she never could have carried Grace and all of the party things back on the subway, alone. And she hadn’t remembered how nice it was, what a relief it could be, just to have someone else take control and drive you home. 

The car smelled familiar and comforting; of exhaust, of Gracie’s snacks, of Percy’s minty shampoo and a faint sea breeze. The front wasn’t very big. His hand on the gearshift was right next to her knee. She’d always loved his hands—strong and capable, marked with little white scars. 

She blinked and looked out the window instead. “Thanks for driving.” 

“You don’t need to thank me.” 

“Still.” 

He glanced at her. “It was a good party. Gracie was thrilled. She’ll go down easy tonight.” 

Annabeth glanced in the backseat and smiled. “Estee was in her element, too.” 

Percy snorted. “I know. Between her and my mom, we barely even had to be there.” 

“Yeah, but who else would have decided the treasure hunt was too easy and hidden candy up in the trees, leading several three year olds to cry and one to skin his knee?” 

“Okay, okay, you know what? That was supposed to be for the older kids, no one told Timmy or Jimmy to go rogue and start climbing—” 

Annabeth laughed. “Did you see his mother’s face? Gods, I hope this means she stops inviting Grace to things and we can stop this terrible cycle.” 

“Was she the one who kept asking if everything was gluten-free? Cause I finally just said it was, so she’d leave me alone.” 

“Percy! Some people are actually allergic.” 

He cut his eyes to her. “And she is _not_ one of those people.” 

They were almost to her apartment. Their old apartment. The familiarity tugged at her. He was being so much less guarded around her, lately. It was strange to laugh like this with him, to have had such an easy day, to feel so at home, again, in the front seat of his car, their baby dozing in the back. 

She missed him. 

She considered this as he pulled up to the apartment. She was going to say—what, that it was good to have spent time with him? That she missed him? That he could come up for coffee? 

She took a deep breath as he stalled the car. But before she could open her mouth, he’d reached out, touching her arm as if to hold her in place for a moment. 

“Annabeth, I wanted to talk to you about something, if you have a minute.” 

Her stomach dipped, and she couldn’t tell if it was in a bad or good way. “Okay?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more rumpled and messy. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days, and it worked well for him. She could smell his minty shampoo mixed with the spicy body wash he always used; it made her heart pick up in an uneven, noticeable sort of way. 

He looked at her. “I’ve been seeing someone. Her name is Bree.” 

The bottom of Annabeth’s stomach seemed to drop out and fall away. She immediately tried to make her face as neutral and mask-like as possible. 

He went on. “She’s a good person. I just wanted—”

“How long?” 

“What?” 

“How long have you been with her?” 

“Not that long. A couple months, I guess.” 

A couple of _months?_ And nobody had told her? But—who would? And how casual was it? If he was telling her—if it had been a couple of months and he was telling her—

She swallowed. “Has she met Gracie?” 

Her voice was quiet, something almost dangerous simmering underneath. 

“No—no, I wouldn’t do that, Annabeth, not without talking to you first. That’s why—”

“So you’re going to introduce her to Grace? Because Grace is _three,_ and she gets attached to people. If this is someone who’s going to be spending a lot of time with her and then just dip out—or, I don’t know, just come and go out of Grace’s life—how are you even going to explain who she is to Grace? Have you even thought about how this affects our daughter at all—?” 

“Annabeth.” Percy moved his hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose. His voice was low. “Yes, I have. Jesus, I forgot you were like this. Do you honestly think I haven’t considered Grace first?” 

The air in the car was suddenly suffocating. Annabeth reached for the door handle, swinging herself out and reaching for Grace. She had to fight to keep her voice under control. “Thanks for the ride. I’m leaving the presents, for now.” 

“Annabeth—”

 _Jesus, I forgot you were like this._

She slammed the door. “I’ll see you later.” 

She hoisted Grace up on her shoulder and turned to face the apartment door; just the two of them on the sidewalk, once again alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments mean everything to me <3 I'd love to know what you think, what you like, what you'd like to see in future, etc. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other things were meant to happen in this chapter but it was getting too long, so! There will be at least one more after this. (and yes, I KNOW it's a sad fic!!! I'm sorry but also I'm not at all).

The note was written in green ink, on floral stationary that looked custom made. 

_To the Blofis Family,_  
_What a fun night! Thank you so much for opening your home to me and providing such wonderful dinner and conversation. I had such a lovely time, and it was so nice to see all of you again. Let’s do it again soon!_  
_All the love,  
Bree_

Annabeth hastily returned the note to the kitchen windowsill as Sally re-entered the room. “—and I still have this great book about three year old development from when Estelle was that age, if you’d like to take it…” 

Sally paused just slightly—had she seen Annabeth replace the note? Her eyes flitted from the paper to Annabeth, and then she continued as if nothing had happened. 

Annabeth’s mind was reeling. Bree had been here. They’d all met her— _again._ They’d all known about her—for how long? During the birthday party, clearly. What did they think of her? What did Sally think? And Estee? Annabeth had never written a thank-you note in her life. She’d bought the cards after her wedding, but they’d just sat and gathered dust until they got swept into the trash under a pile of junk mail. 

Feeling sick, Annabeth politely accepted the book from Sally and went to find her daughter. Grace and Estelle were sitting on Estelle’s rug, playing with Barbies. Annabeth frowned and crossed her arms, leaning against the doorjamb, but said nothing. 

_Jesus, I forgot you were like this._

She knocked softly against the doorframe. “Hi, there.” 

Grace’s face lit up for a brief second, and then settled into discontent. “More time, mama.” 

Annabeth sighed, but smiled too. “You can have another minute, baby.” 

Estee shot up and hugged Annabeth tightly around the middle before going back to the rug. “Can you tell Percy he still owes me a beach trip?” 

Annabeth’s eyebrows creased. “Can’t you tell him yourself? You see him more than I do.” 

Estee raised a speculative brow. “Do I?” 

“Um, yes.” 

Annabeth’s eyes fell on a book that had clearly fallen off Estelle’s bed. She picked it up to place on the desk. “Hey, you’re reading Nancy Drew? I thought you were still in your outer space thing.” 

Estelle looked up with an expression of faint distaste. “Bree brought it to me. It was her favorite. She’s trying to get me to like her.” 

Annabeth dropped the book on the desk as if it suddenly burned. “Oh.” 

A hundred questions lit through her mind, but she swallowed them down. “You about ready, Gracie-girl?” 

Grace scowled, but handed her Barbie back to her aunt. 

“He misses you, you know.” Estelle didn’t look at Annabeth as she spoke. “I heard him telling my dad.” 

Annabeth’s stomach froze. What on the gods’ earth was she supposed to do with that? 

She watched Estelle put jackets on the dolls, using studied concentration. The nine year old’s brow was creased, a slight twist to her face, as though if she didn’t keep concentrating, she might cry. 

Could she be lying? 

Estelle had been furious when the marriage ended. She had grieved in a more public way than anyone; crying, shouting, and refusing to speak to Percy for weeks. The thing was, Estee had known Annabeth her whole life; as long as she’d known Percy. They’d already been dating when Estee was born—the little girl had never known anything else.

Annabeth, Sally, and everyone else had tried to gently explain that Annabeth would always be in Estelle’s life; Gracie’s existence ensured it. It had made little difference. 

Annabeth bent to the rug for a moment, running a hand over Estelle’s hair and placing a kiss on her head. “Well, _I_ miss _you_ and soon we’ll have to do something fun, just the two of us, okay?” 

Estee lifted her head, wearing a small, grudging smile. “Yeah, okay.” 

Annabeth scooped Gracie into her arms and they made their departure, trying not to think any more of floral stationary and hand-me-down books.  
.  
.  
.  
“So, d’you think we could switch those nights? It’d be—” 

“No. We can’t.” 

“Annabeth, you’d be doing me a huge—” 

“Oh my gods, Percy, find a freaking babysitter! Or better, just stay home and be a father to your daughter.” Annabeth snapped, bending to sweep cheerios off the floor. “I already have plans.” 

The line went silent for a long minute. “Wow, you always know what to say, Annabeth. Thanks for that.” 

She dumped the dust pan into the trash. “Well if it doesn’t work for me to rearrange our days, it doesn’t.” 

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” 

“You can’t just change your mind all the time, and expect me to not have a life. You need to be reliable.” 

He was silent. 

“What is so important for you to do on Sunday, anyway?” She demanded. 

“It doesn’t matter. Clearly. Just forget it.” 

“Fine.” 

“Great.” His voice was laden with sarcasm. “I’ll see you Sunday, then.” 

“Yup.” 

The line went dead—had he just _hung up on her?_ Did he consider that a goodbye? 

Annabeth stared at her phone for two and half seconds, and then threw it against the wall.  
.  
.  
.  
The New York sidewalk was brisk and bustling, the morning air smelling of rain and smoke and leaves as Annabeth and Grace walked hand-in-hand to the bakery. 

They were busy counting sidewalk lines and discussing the latest episode of Scooby-Doo, and Annabeth wasn’t being very vigilant; it had been ages and ages since she’d experienced any sort of monster-related disturbance, and so far Grace had flown entirely under the radar. 

So she wasn’t paying attention to any of the fellow pedestrians, to those in her immediate path, or to the couple who had just emerged from a bookstore to their oncoming right, until— 

_“Daddy!”_

Annabeth’s head jerked up at Gracie’s delighted shriek. Sure enough, Percy was standing on the sidewalk only a short distance ahead, accompanied by—a girl. 

Annabeth’s stomach dropped. 

Percy saw them at the same time. And then Gracie had let go of Annabeth’s hand and went running down the sidewalk, straight into his arms. He swept her up automatically—what choice did he have?—and Annabeth watched as Grace tightened her little arms around his neck, elated at the surprise meeting. 

Annabeth followed at a wary pace. 

The girl with Percy looked their same age; mid-twenties. She had shiny, auburn-brown hair—miles of it. She was wearing faded jeans and a white, slightly cropped t-shirt. Her pretty face was covered in freckles. _Bree._

Bree’s eyebrows had flown up at the three-year-old who had materialized out of thin air and launched herself at Percy. It only took a moment for her curious wide-eyes to find Annabeth, and then look between the three of them, obviously putting the dots together. 

Annabeth felt herself detach. Whereas moments before she’d been present, smiling, and absorbed with Gracie, she now felt her face become cool and remote. 

Percy gently disentangled Gracie’s hair from her fairy wings, answering her questions as she chattered to him. The wings had been a birthday gift; they were large and sparkly and Gracie had absolutely refused to take them off since her party. 

He and Annabeth met eyes. “Hi,” he said quietly. Their most recent phone call darted in and out of her mind. 

Annabeth just nodded. She’d stopped a safe distance away. 

He clearly could see this, and he walked over anyway, bringing Gracie back. “I see we were right about the wings.” 

“She hasn’t taken them off. They give her enchanted fairy powers.” 

“Let’s hope those are the only powers we see, for a while,” Percy gave a half-smile. 

Annabeth said nothing. After a moment, Percy glanced over his shoulder to where Annabeth had glanced. Bree was hovering by the storefront, obviously unsure about whether to insert herself. Her eyes were big and shining with curiosity, looking mostly at Gracie, but also darting to Annabeth, and then looking anywhere else. 

The three-year-old daughter who she hadn’t been allowed to meet yet, and the elusive ex-wife. Who _knew_ what she’d heard about Annabeth? 

Annabeth could see Percy trying to make a split decision. _It’s too late,_ she wanted to tell him. _None of us want to be here, and yet here we are, so you have to introduce us. It’s all too late._

He’d obviously arrived at the same conclusion. “Bree,” he said, raising his voice a little, and she came closer, smiling cautiously at Gracie.  
Annabeth hung back again as he introduced Gracie to Bree, but she distinctly heard him call Bree his “friend.” 

Gracie, who could go either way with new people, suddenly decided to play shy, ducking her head into Percy’s shoulder and barely speaking. Annabeth couldn’t help it; she felt a stab of satisfaction. 

And then, just for a moment, she looked at the three of them circled there under the awning of the shop, the morning sun making Gracie’s messy curls glow. Bree was laughing, asking Grace about her fairy wings; she had a flannel jacket tied around her waist. Percy’s jacket. Percy’s hair was messy in the unique way it always was in the morning, like he’d just gotten out of bed. They probably had. 

She hadn’t noticed the natural silence that had fallen, but suddenly they were looking at her. “And, uh…this is Annabeth.” Percy gestured between them. To his credit, his voice was solid. “Annabeth—Bree.” 

She let Bree come to her. The other girl’s eyes were big again—she wasn’t good at hiding her emotions. She was obviously nervous. 

“Hi, Annabeth. Nice to meet you.” Bree held out her hand. Annabeth waited only a second before shaking it. 

“Hello.” Her voice sounded subdued to her own ears. She could still feel the cool distance on her face. 

Bree swallowed, and then her mouth set in a little line; she didn’t seem very happy, either. Was it the mere fact of Annabeth’s existence? The surprise collision? Or something even more specific—something in Annabeth’s physical appearance? 

“Okay, I think we’re going to get going!” Percy said then, swinging Gracie back down. She clung to his leg. 

“Daddy, are you going to come with us? Pleeease?” 

“Nope.” He ruffled her hair, and then crouched down to her level. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I can’t wait to see you then.”  
They could both see a meltdown coming on. Annabeth stepped in, scooping Gracie up and bouncing her slightly. “Say bye-bye,” she said firmly but brightly, already starting to walk away. “You’ll see daddy soon.” 

Gracie waved through her already-dissipating tears, and Annabeth made the mistake of glancing back; Bree was waving, too. 

Swiftly, Annabeth faced forward again, lifting her chin and lengthening her stride.  
.  
.  
.  
“Wait, but what did she look like?” Piper leaned closer over the little table in the crowded bar, her face serious. 

“I already told you!” 

“No, you barely said. Give me more.” 

“Okay—she was small. Like, shorter than me. _Petite._ One of those people guys want to like…” Annabeth waved a vague hand. “Put in their pocket, or something.” 

“Mmhmm.” Piper nodded knowingly. 

“Her hair was just…so _shiny._ I don’t know. She was pretty.” 

_“How_ pretty?” 

Annabeth raised her eyebrows. “I can ask Percy to give you her number, if you’re looking.” 

Piper ignored her. “Come on. You know what I’m asking.” 

And Annabeth did. The thing was, women loved Percy. Women of all ages—teenagers, ladies with gray hair. He could be dating a supermodel, if he wanted. But—that wasn’t him. 

“Pretty. In a…natural, low-makeup, chill sort of way. Nothing crazy.” Annabeth flicked her napkin. “She looked like she’s into…I don’t know, cookie baking. Photography. Soccer, maybe. Yoga, probably.” 

“We like yoga,” Piper pointed out, to be fair. 

Annabeth took a long sip of her white wine. “She has custom stationery,” she remembered suddenly. “Flowery. And really good handwriting.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Yeah. 

They were quiet for a moment. “She sounds like his type, I guess.” Piper said thoughtfully. 

Annabeth stared at her. 

“Well, besides the stationery. I’m trying to figure out what his type is, besides you!” Piper said. She considered. “He hates superficial people.” 

“What are you trying to get at, here?” 

“Well, nothing. Just—if she ends up spending time with Gracie, obviously we want to figure her out.” The note of protectiveness in Piper’s voice was hard to miss. 

“Yeah.” Annabeth sighed. “I mean. If it comes to that…which, it seems like..” She looked away, across the bar. “I’ll have more questions, too.” 

They fell into silence. Annabeth was grateful that Piper wasn’t asking what someone else might—about Annabeth’s own dating life, pressuring her to “get out there,” herself. They both knew this wasn’t the time. 

She hadn’t dated anyone since the split—not really. Neither had Percy, until now. She hadn’t turned celibate, either; she’d had a couple of one night stands. None of them had felt very worth it. 

“Travis Stoll’s wedding is coming up...” Piper said, changing the subject. “I know he invited both of you. Do you think you’ll go?” 

Annabeth considered. “Honestly, I don’t know. Percy’s probably going, and I am just not up for that. Especially if he brings…her.” 

She knew it was hard for their friends to navigate their separation. They never quite knew how to handle it, so they mostly kept inviting both Percy and Annabeth to things, and left it up to the two of them to figure out. 

Which resulted in neither of them showing up, more often than not. 

Annabeth sighed, and then Piper did, too.  
.  
.  
.  
Piper crashed at Annabeth’s, that night. The two of them wound their way home, arm in arm, a light rain beginning to fall around Cornelia Street. Once back at the apartment, Piper sat on the couch where she would sleep, and then Annabeth sat down next do her, laying her head on Piper’s shoulder. They didn’t need to say anything. Cars honked, and the refrigerator hummed, and rain drizzled against the window, falling late into the early hours of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to talk about this chapter with you guys, so please let's do so!! It was meant to have other stuff in it, but it would've gotten too long, so I know it's kind of quiet, but I really loved writing it.  
> I know a lot of you are shy, but you can always comment (or talk to me on tumblr, annabeth-in-olympus), as a guest/anonymously. I'd love to hear what you think about the different scenes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK folks you convinced me to get sidetracked and write this additional chapter before finishing the fic. 
> 
> Also, a quick note: This story is about ANGST. That's the point--let's all give in to it together, yeah? I LOVE hearing your responses and don't fault you your pain, but like, let's just give in to the misery already.

“God, my parents just fell in love with Grace today.” Bree smiled at Percy from the passenger seat. “She’s such a sweet kid.” 

Percy glanced in the rearview mirror, to where Grace was sleeping in her car seat. “When she wants to be,” he said wryly. 

Grace had done better at Bree’s brother’s engagement picnic than he’d hoped. She’d clung to him initially, as he’d expected, but had slowly warmed to the other guests, charming everyone with her feisty spirit and the fairy wings she still wouldn’t take off. 

“And it _seems_ like she’s liking me more,” Bree continued. “But girl sure can play hard to get.” 

Percy smiled. “She’ll get there.” 

“Honestly, she liked my mom, my brother, and my aunt more than me.” 

Percy focused on changing lanes. It _was_ a little strange that Grace had maintained a distance only to Bree; she was too young to understand the situation, and all she’d been told was that Bree was Percy’s friend—just like everyone else at the party. It was as though Grace had an innate sense that things were not entirely to her liking. 

Percy sighed, and changed the subject, asking instead about Bree’s work. 

When they reached his apartment, a question hung in the air. Bree had left her purse there, which was why Percy hadn’t driven her home. She lived in the opposite direction, and he knew she’d be willing to grab her things and catch a taxi. She never stayed the night when Grace was there; she’d never even _been over_ when Grace was there. 

But she’d also only just met Grace the day before. The rules were shifting. He knew it was up to him to set them, to enforce them, to figure out what was the best thing for Grace first, and then for everyone else, too. Just trying to sort it all out gave him a massive headache, more often than not. 

He carried Grace up to the apartment, Bree following quietly. He could feel the long day; everyone was tired. It felt weird to ask Bree to leave—it was already dark out, taxis were expensive, and Grace was already asleep, anyway. Could it really hurt to let her stay? She’d understand if he didn’t, but… _would_ she? 

“Look,” Percy said after putting Grace down. “Why don’t just you stay? It’s getting pretty late.” 

Bree’s eyes widened, and then her face burst into a wide smile, which she quickly tried to hold back. “Really? Are you sure that’s—” 

“Yeah. It’s cool.” Percy turned toward the sink, already half-regretting it. What about the _morning?_ And sometimes Grace had nightmares and came to find him in the night—would it be barbaric to ask Bree to sleep on the couch? 

Fuck. 

Bree was already settling in, going to the fridge and popping the top off two beers, bringing him one. She propped herself up on the counter, facing him, her long hair hanging over her shoulder and tickling his arm. 

“I loved having you there, with my family today.” She said with an adorable smile. “It meant so much to me. They love you, you know.” 

Percy tried to ignore his stress. “It was a good day.” 

Bree ran a hand up his arm. He wasn’t fooling her. She pulled him closer, tracing his ear. “Hey, hey. Everything’s good. You need to relax.” She tilted her chin up and kissed him, and then kissed his jaw, continuing down his neck. “Let me help you,” she murmured, running her hands up under his shirt. 

Percy shuddered, feeling a familiar burn in his abdomen, but he pulled away, gently taking her hands off him. “Not tonight,” he said quietly. “Not with Gracie here.” 

Bree swallowed, her neck flushing slightly. He could tell he’d hurt her feelings. 

“Hey,” he said, kissing her temple. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

The words sounded hollow to his own ears; he wondered if she could sense the lie. 

She just nodded and took a long drink. “It’s okay.” She said quietly. “I get it.” 

He moved to lean against the counter beside her, taking a drink also and not saying anything. 

Bree was a third generation demigod. Her great-grandmother was Demeter. She didn’t have any powers, but she could usually see through the mist, and she’d been raised knowing about Olympus and the gods. One foot in, one foot out. It was a unique position to be in, not unlike how it had been for Rachel Dare. They’d met through mutual friends; he’d noticed her because she’d rolled her eyes when someone made a comment about him being the most powerful demigod of their generation. 

Percy glanced at the clock and ran a hand through his hair; he wasn’t sure why he was suddenly in a bad mood. Except that he didn’t know how he was going to handle the next morning, or the following few days that he had Gracie, now he was no longer keeping her and Bree separate—which also hadn’t even been his _choice,_ running into her and Annabeth in the street hadn’t exactly been—

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing sharply on the counter between him and Bree. 

It was a text; they both saw the screen at the same time. _Annabeth._

He grabbed the phone and took a step away without thinking, tapping to read the message. 

**Sorry for not taking Gracie tonight. And being a bitch about it. You’ve done it for me, and I should have helped out.**

Then, 

**I want us to stay on good terms. For Gracie. I think it’s important. Sorry.**

Percy frowned at the screen. This sort of thing was unusual. Annabeth texting him for anything besides logistical details ( _running late,_ or, _don’t forget she’s doing an earlier bedtime_ ), Annabeth apologizing… 

His first instinct was to wonder if she was alright; should he call and check? His second was that maybe, probably, she’d had a couple drinks. 

It had been ages and ages since either of them had had too much and called the other one, crying or saying things they later extremely regretted; sending a text at three in the morning saying any manner of things. _I’m sorry I miss you I love you I hate you I need you._ The same sentiments all twisted together with burning words. 

Bree cleared her throat. “So, what did she want?” 

She didn’t usually ask about Annabeth; if Percy was communicating with her when he was with Bree, Bree kept her distance, assuming and respecting that it was about Gracie. 

Percy hesitated, feeling distracted. “Uh, she was just checking on Grace.” He shoved the phone in his pocket, making a mental note to answer. 

Bree toyed with her bracelet. “Does she hate me?” 

Percy’s eyebrows went up. “Uh…” _She has no idea you’re here right now, if that’s what you’re asking._

“I mean, the way that she looked at me yesterday…” Bree looked at him. “What have you said to her?” 

“Well, I haven’t exactly had a chance—she doesn’t know anything about you. She’s just—” 

“Daddy?” 

Percy wheeled around at the small voice in the doorway. Gracie was standing there in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes, a halo of tangled curls in her face. 

Bree had jumped too. She shoved her beer behind her back, which would’ve been kind of hilarious, if Percy hadn’t wished he too could shove Bree behind his own back. 

“Hey, sweetie.” Percy knelt in front of the toddler. “Are you okay? What are you doing out of bed?” 

“Why is she here?” Gracie’s voice was loud, confused and sleepy. She was staring at Bree, who blushed and slid off the counter, and then seemed unsure what to do. 

“She’s our friend, remember? She’s gonna hang out here, tonight.” Percy held out his arms. “Ready to come back to bed with me?” 

Grace considered this, looking from Bree to Percy. “Water,” she said finally. “I’m thirsty.” 

Bree tried to be helpful and fill a cup from the shelf, but it wasn’t the _right_ cup, with the green dinosaurs—not even the pink cup with the dancing giraffes—and then Grace interjected and said that _daddy had to do it,_ and finally, when it was all worked out, Percy carried her back to bed. It took a while to get her to sleep; three read-throughs of Where The Wild Things Are, starting over when she accused Percy of skipping pages. 

And finally, finally, he returned to the kitchen where Bree was waiting. 

He went to the cupboard and started replacing the rejected cups, when he realized Bree was watching him from her renewed counter perch. “What?” 

Bree tucked her hair behind her ear, her eyes soft. “You’re a really, really great dad.” 

Percy snorted, going back to the shelf. “Gods, that used to piss Annabeth off so much. People saying that when I would, like, push a stroller.” 

It was true; Annabeth had bent over backward to be a good parent—and she had been, she still was—and she’d still gotten shit for things like having a career. Not to mention giving Grace bottles, using a crib, vaccinating… No one ever said a word of praise to her. Percy, on the other hand, was lauded with approval for simply being seen _interacting_ with his kid. 

It wasn’t something he might’ve noticed, if Annabeth hadn’t ranted, and sometimes screamed, about it. And back then, he hadn’t really listened. He knew that. He’d told her she was exaggerating, to calm down, that she just wanted to find fault with everything. In truth, he had, at times, been one of the people giving her shit about working full time. Not blatantly, but—he knew he’d often made it harder instead of easier. 

He exhaled loudly, shutting the cupboard harder than was necessary. 

Bree had gone silent. He glanced at her, feeling a little guilty. “Thanks, though.” 

She didn’t answer. He leaned against the opposite counter and took out his phone, looking again at the texts from Annabeth. After a long moment, he wrote back: 

**You don’t need to be sorry, Annabeth. You have a life too—I get that. We’re fine.**

He paused. Somehow, he wasn’t eager to learn how she’d respond once she knew he’d handled it by bringing Grace to the party with him. Bree’s family’s party. 

**Have a nice night.**

He watched the screen, but she didn’t respond; at least not right away. He sighed again, looking up and staring at the wall, unseeing. 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

Bree’s voice was quiet from across the room. 

Percy jumped. “What?” 

Bree slid off the counter, her face subdued. “Well, you asked me to stay, but I don’t think you want me here. I can see that you’re stressed. It’s okay.” Her tone implied that it was not okay, at all. 

Percy was in front of her in two seconds. “What are you talking about? Look at me—I don’t want you to go anywhere. I’m sorry.” 

He brushed her hair away from her face. Her bambi-eyes were staring at him, uncertain. “I’m an asshole. I was just distracted.” He kissed her forehead, her lips. “Don’t go.” 

And so she didn’t.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
**Before.**  
.  
.  
“Hey. It’s me.” 

Percy’s voice was low in his dark, empty apartment—his brand new, empty bachelor pad that was completely devoid of furniture or people or hope, despite the fact he’d been living there for weeks. 

He was slumped against the wall in the empty living room, surrounded by inky black windows; he would have pulled the shades down against the night, but he didn’t have any yet.  
His phone was against one ear, his other hand pressed up to the bridge of his nose. He wondered if she’d be able to smell the alcohol through the phone. She could do things like that, he sometimes thought. She had more magic powers than any other person in the world. 

“Listen. Annabeth.” He inhaled, voice rough. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. We shouldn’t…I can’t…” He paused. _Gods, he was such a dumbass._ “We went wrong somewhere. We got off track. Gods, I…” He pulled at his hair, his voice uneven. _She’ll know it’s just the alcohol. She says you don’t talk like this when you’re sober_. “I mean it. Baby...don’t sign the papers, okay? We can do this. We can work on this. I love you. I…I’m gonna change, okay? We can…we can change.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “You looked so beautiful yesterday—I didn’t tell you that, and I never tell you that, but it’s all I can…” _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ “Just…don’t do this. Let’s not do this. I love you. I—” The voicemail cut off. 

_Fuck._

Just as he was contemplating throwing the phone threw the window so he would never have access to it again, it gave a brief, sharp buzz. A voicemail. 

“Hey. It’s me.” Annabeth’s voice was clear, calm, and very quiet. “I thought about what you said, Percy. Yesterday. And what I said, too—what we’ve been saying for weeks, and months, I guess, and not hearing each other. And…” There was a pause. “I want you to know that I hear you, okay? And that I know. I know that…” Her voice trailed off, and there was a slight bit of static. “I know that it’s time. I know that we’ve been ignoring it, and damaging each other, and damaging Gracie, and it’s time to let go.” There was a long, long silence. “It’s time for the next part. Where it doesn’t hurt so much. And to see the good parts again, like you said.” She cleared her throat, her voice sounding stronger. “I want you to know that I love you. And that it was real.” 

There was so much silence that he thought it was over—just blank staticky dead air, waiting for the cutoff. Then, “It’s on the mat, okay? I slid the papers under your door, a little while ago. It’s signed, Percy. It’s done.” 

And it was; as he rounded the corner to the front door, he saw the official envelope waiting on the doormat. That was the only thing this place had come with; a doormat. It functioned now as a backdrop to the divorce papers, a picture frame to the worst moment of his life. 

She’d left her voicemail as he was leaving his—seconds before, seconds after, it didn’t matter. Their wires had crossed in midair, and now this was what they had. 

This was all there was.  
.  
.  
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**Now.**  
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.  
“Still no monsters?" 

“Still no monsters. But she’s only three.” 

“If real powers develop, or monsters become a problem, there will be a place at Camp Half-Blood for her. You know that, right?” Grover’s tone was careful. 

Percy was silent for a long minute. “Yeah.” He didn’t say anything else, and Grover didn’t bring it up again. 

They were leaning against a fence at the edge of a twilit park, watching Gracie play. In a short matter of minutes, Annabeth would show up to collect her. Trading their kid between them like a used, shared car—that was what their life had come to. A stretch of days with his daughter, and then a longer stretch with no one, with nothing—a silent apartment, a cold bed, a series of meals for one. 

“You and Bree seem serious.” Grover interrupted their silence, looking at Percy for a long moment. 

Percy took a long drink of water, staring out at the twilit park where Gracie was playing. “Do we?” 

Grover raised an eyebrow. “Okay, well, you tell me, I guess.” 

Percy exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Sure. I guess we are.” 

He could feel Grover wanting to say more—the empathy link between them had never entirely faded, but even without it, satyrs could read emotions. 

Grover cleared his throat. “Do you think—” 

But he never finished. A pair of headlights cut across them, illuminating the deep blue of the early evening. 

“Is that—?” 

Annabeth emerged from her car, effectively answering Grover’s question. 

“Hi,” she said to both of them, going straight to Grover and giving him a hug. He wrapped her right into his arms, giving her hair a gentle kiss. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” said Percy, leaning back against the fence. 

Annabeth stood in front of him, crossing her arms. He did not get a hug. 

“Hi.” A distinct coolness emanated from her as she stared him down. He could remember when she used to look so—tall to him. Intimidating. Sucking all the air into her own magnetic force and pulling him along with it, giving him whiplash from the whirlwind of _long legs authority princess hair badass warrior hot girl powerful demigod._ And she was still all of those things; but she no longer seemed tall or daunting or scary, even if she looked that way to others. 

All he saw was a twenty-six year old girl who was a head shorter than him, wearing black leggings and a faded grey zip up, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked thinner than she should, like she could do with a few more meals. Tired, too. _And beautiful,_ a voice said in the back of his mind. _Always beautiful._

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Something you’d like to say?” 

“Yes, there is something I’d like to say.” 

Her eyes glinted. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing Gracie to Bree’s party? To _meet her entire family?”_

Percy just looked at her, uncomprehending. “How did you…?” 

Annabeth just shook her head. “I talked to Grace on the phone this morning—remember? She wanted to say good morning to me?” Her voice held disbelief. 

“Oh.” And he’d been in the shower. 

“Oh. Yeah. Oh.” Annabeth’s eyebrows kept going up. “And while we’re on the subject, since when do you have sleepovers with Bree _while our daughter is there?_ You decide that they just met the day before, so—oh, what the hell, time to all move in together? What _is that?”_

Grover, who had begun edging away at the start of the conversation, now spoke. “Uh, I’m gonna go check on Gracie, I think she was looking sideways at a poisonous mushroom…” He fled. 

Annabeth hadn’t taken her eyes off Percy. Under her veneer of anger, he could see the main emotion in her eyes, and it wasn’t new. _Betrayal._

He took a deep breath. “Annabeth, listen. The party—I was in a tight spot, Grace didn’t know what was going on. She doesn’t expect that she’s going to meet all those people again. It was just a barbeque—” 

“Actually, she told me all about how ‘Aunt Caroline is going to teach her to crochet, and Nathan is going to take her to the zoo.” Annabeth’s voice was ice cold. 

“She’s not a piece of glass, Annabeth.” 

“She’s three-fucking-years old. And I don’t know these people.” 

“Well, I’m glad you’ve come to think so highly of my judgment.” 

“Oh, yeah. Your excellent judgment in having cozy little sleepovers with your girlfriend, a day after she’s met our daughter? What the fuck is Grace supposed to think? Are those really the memories you want our daughter to have—a parade of strangers in her house at night? Women she gets attached to and then they just leave? She needs stability—” 

“What _women?” _Percy stopped trying to keep his voice down. “What _parade?_ There’s been one, Annabeth. One girl. And it was fine, okay? It was fine. You can stop projecting your own damaged memories—” __

__“No.” Annabeth cut him off, her voice furious. “Do _not_ do that. This isn’t about me. You fucked up, and you should have run it by me—” _ _

__“Are you serious right now? Because I tried. I tried to talk to you, and you freaked out.” Percy shook his head. “Maybe—maybe it was too soon. I get that. It was a mistake, okay? I didn’t plan to have Bree stay. But you can stop putting everything on me, when you’re the one who can’t even hold a normal conversation—”_ _

__“Oh, I can’t? What do you think I’m trying to do, right now?”_ _

__“Uh, scream at me? Pick another fucking fight?” He looked away into the gathering darkness, frustration mounting in his chest. “Gods, why does this never _change?_ Why are you like this?” _ _

__She reeled backward a couple steps, her face darkening. “Gods. Fuck you, Percy. Seriously. Fuck you.”_ _

__He could hear the distant sound of cars on the highway, of a growing buzzing in his own ears. He knew he needed to stop now; count backwards, walk away, do the breathing. He’d done the work. It was time to go._ _

__But his hands were tingling with a familiar power; the buzzing in his ears was growing to a distant roar. He walked to his car, looking back for a long, final moment. When he spoke, his voice sounded hard and bleak to his own ears._ _

__“I’m so glad you signed those papers.”_ _

__And he slammed the door shut, feeling only the deafening roar of the tide in his veins, ears, chest—crashing over and breaking everything in its wake, like seawater in a monsoon._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not the last chapter. 
> 
> Please let's chat! Here or tumblr, annabeth-in-olympus. I've loved talking to you guys about this story and hearing all your different thoughts! Thank you so much for all the response so far.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note: This chapter is rated M and CONTAINS EXPLICIT ADULT CONTENT. (I don't consider this a spoiler, since there are flashbacks and it may not be what you think). 
> 
> If it's important to anyone, please tell me and I can arrange for you to read a censored version, or even post that version here.

**Before.**  
.  
.  
.  
.  
_The sea does not like to be restrained._

Annabeth stared out at the coast, pulling her sweater a little tighter. The wind was whipping her hair, churning the ocean into a rough green frenzy. 

_No,_ she thought. _Not a frenzy. A force. It has control. It knows exactly what it’s doing._

She watched the crashing waves, feeling endless minutes, hours slide by. It was cold, but that was better. Her clifftop view was hidden and lonesome and almost touched the sky.

And while she looked, she saw things. And she heard things. And she was powerless to stop it. Voices swirled in her head, almost as if they were being tossed on the wind. 

_…Me? Go with you to the…the ‘Thrill Ride of Love’?..._ And, _Hey, don’t I get a kiss for luck? It’s kind of a tradition, right?..._ And, _You’re cute when you’re worried…_ And...

 _…You’re not getting away from me. Never again._

The image of a careless kid with messy dark hair and unimpressed eyes; he could never sit still, always fidgeting with his stupid pen, or leaping up without warning—he never gave warning. A girl with tangled blond hair and scraped knees, hauling huge books and daggers around and bossily explaining the better way to do things. 

Their arguments. Their friendship. Their loyalty. Their absurd bravery and resilience and the way that even in the center of hell, they could laugh, roll their eyes, and carry on.  
The way he’d kissed her in the bubble, down in the canoe lake, confident and sweet. The first time he said ‘I love you.’ The way he’d dented Ethan Nakamura’s helmet, after she got hurt. At their wedding, when he’d vowed to build something permanent with her, and her jaw had dropped, because it had been years since she’d said that—she didn’t know he’d remembered. Staying up all night, lying in the dark; the things he’d whisper in her ear. His vicious strength with monsters, versus his gentle sweetness with their baby. Their sustaining friendship. 

Until it had gone wrong—how had it gone wrong? How had they let it happen? 

His words from the day before cut like a knife through her chest. 

She’d left her ring on the table; she couldn’t wear it anymore. She had to stop hurting so much. The pain felt like it was going to drown her. Taking off the weight of the source—what other concrete thing could she do? 

He’d seen it, and looked at it for a long, long time. His previous volatile moods were gone now; he was calm, quiet. A rarity; a respite in the middle of a storm. And then he’d put the ring in his pocket, and turned to go. But first, he’d looked at her, leaning against the doorjamb. When he spoke, his voice was low, a rueful, sad smile in the timbre. There was something thoughtful in his eyes—a maturity. Almost…a wisdom. 

“We’re going to find our way back to each other.” 

The words had hit like a wrecking ball. She couldn’t take it; not the undercut promise, not the contradicting messages, not the vestige of truth that hung somewhere in the ether. She refused to be haunted by such vows, now of all times. 

And so, because evidently one of them had to be worked up if the other wasn’t, she’d lost it and screamed at him, pushing his chest. “I cannot _live like that,_ Percy—we cannot keep holding on—we _can’t keep holding on—”_

And so here she was. 

No longer holding anything.  
.  
.  
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.  
**Now.**  
.  
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Something was wrong. 

It went off in her body like a pulsing red alarm. 

_Wrong—wrong—wrong._

It was three, four in the morning—she didn’t know. 

She could feel it, it was in every cell of her body, in the air. _Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong._

Bedroom door, hallway, door, the glow of Grace’s nightlight—a hollow rattling sound, her baby arching backward, shaking and thrashing, not breathing— _not breathing, not breathing, not breathing._

And time stopped. Annabeth stepped into a different skin; she knew what to do, even if she didn’t know how she knew. She moved with an expert efficiency, making a safe space, grabbing the phone and dialing—and then abandoning the useless operator, once she knew the vehicles were coming. The seizure had ended, but the breathing was still not there—and so she performed CPR until the EMTS arrived; and the rest was a slideshow, a horror show—red and blue lights, questions, a blanket, the back of an ambulance in which turns were taken with reckless speed. 

And through it all she was still and she was strong and she was a force of gravity for her baby—right up until they took her baby away. 

Which was when she did the only other thing there was, which was dial the only other number that existed in the whole world. 

He answered on the first ring, and she had no idea what she said, but then he was there. Before she’d even blinked, it seemed, he was there.  
.  
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“She’s going to be okay.” 

They learned this quickly enough; and yet, still they couldn’t go in to see her. Still, she wouldn’t be released for a time. Still, they were there at all. 

_She’s going to be okay._

The doctors had said it, then the nurses, then their family and friends who had trickled in as it turned to morning. They’d said it until it started to be true, and then the reality began to hit— _she’s going to be okay_ —and then the shock started to wear off and everything else hit. 

Annabeth felt it all break open inside her, with no signs of slowing. She felt it break and break and break. 

And he was there. 

“Shhh.” Percy wasn’t really trying to shush her at all, just making low, soothing noises as she sobbed into his shirt. 

They didn’t speak for a long time. He just held her—stronger than she had any recent memory of being held—while she shook apart, releasing every last bit of fear and trauma.

Finally she whispered, “I was so scared. _So scared.”_

“I know.” 

“She’s just a baby.”

“I know.” 

“I thought…I thought she could have _died.”_

His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her hair, leaving his face there. “I know.” 

They stood apart from anyone else, down the short hallway. Sally and Paul gave them space. Piper had taken Estelle to get a snack, once they knew Gracie would be alright. Grover glanced at them a couple times, but sat next to Sally and Paul. 

Annabeth kept her face buried in Percy’s chest, feeling herself coming back into her body. Her heart ached in an acute, deeply physical way. For Gracie, but for other things, too. 

Percy just rested his chin on her head, tracing his hand up and down her spine. 

He was so solid, so warm, so familiar and yet always new, too. _Home._ Being locked in his arms was coming home; the only definition she had anymore, and yet didn’t have, anymore. 

Fresh tears bubbled to the surface, and he rubbed slow circles on her back. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but eventually they were interrupted by another doctor in a white coat, who brought them in to see their baby. 

_Who was okay._  
.  
.  
.  
.  
“Annabeth.” 

She kept her eyes closed, her head against his shoulder. She was so tired, and it was too much—too much. 

“Annabeth.” He rubbed his hand against her arm, trying to talk to her. 

“Mmm.” 

“Did you hear what the doctor said in there?” 

She opened her eyes. They were sitting in the chairs in the hallway, against the wall, right outside the door while the doctors did what they needed to do. His arm was around her, all her fight gone, because it could be now. Because Grace was okay and he was here and he could listen to the doctors while she breathed in their baby’s skin. 

“Yeah. She’s going to be fine but they want to do some more screens and monitor—” 

“Not that. The part about how she lived and she doesn’t have brain damage because of the child CPR you did.” 

Annabeth went very still. Percy was squeezing her arm, his voice dead serious. He was looking at her, but she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Annabeth. They said you saved her life.” 

Something lodged in Annabeth’s chest, but she shook her head, staring down the hallway. “No.” She whispered. “It doesn’t—anyone could—” 

Percy put his hands on either side of her face, making her look at him. “ _Anyone_ couldn’t. You did. You saved Gracie’s life.” 

She swallowed hard, blinking. It was all too much. So she buried her face in his shoulder again, feeling the tears come, just trying to breathe. 

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, rubbing her shoulder. He whispered something, but it was too faint for her to hear.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
“It’s gonna be a few days. They need to monitor her, just to be safe.” Percy said to Sally, sitting down on her other side, all of them by Gracie’s bed as she slept. 

Sally just nodded, squeezing Annabeth’s shoulder. “She’s lucky to have had such a strong, remarkable mama there in the crisis.” 

Annabeth swallowed again but didn’t look, keeping her finger in the center of Gracie’s curled fist, staring at the tiny fingers wrapped around her own. _Percy could have done it, too._ She wanted to say. _Percy would have._

But…how many others could have? How many others would know emergency protocol, could keep their heads in a crisis, had been on battlefields and seen many, many life-or-death situations? 

Gracie’s fist gave a reflexive squeeze in her sleep, her chest falling in a little sigh. Annabeth gave a feather-light squeeze back, her heart constricting. 

_I’m always going to be here,_ she said to Gracie in her mind. _That’s one thing you’ll never, ever have to worry about. I’m always going to squeeze back._  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Things became a blur of fluorescent hospital lighting, camping by Grace’s bedside, vending machine pretzels and bad coffee. 

There was the morning of the second day when Annabeth leaned in the doorway, catching sight of Piper coming out of the elevator holding a giant teddy bear. Percy was out in the hallway, just hanging up with his parents; he and Piper saw each other first, and she gave him a big, long hug. She pulled away, and Annabeth waited, but the two of them kept talking, and then Piper set the bear on a chair, and they slowly began to wander away down the hall, still talking, then rounded the corner and disappeared. 

There was Percy on the end of Gracie’s hospital bed, playing their sixth game of Uno in a row, tragically losing every time. 

There was Paul reading through stacks of Gracie’s favorite books, again and again, and getting a very satisfied look when Gracie approvingly declared, _“Grandpa_ doesn’t skip pages.” 

And then there was one evening, late, when everyone else had gone home. The whole floor was quiet, the windows dark. Visiting hours were almost over. Annabeth was tired; she was tired of trying to stay positive for their family and friends, tired of being upbeat for Gracie, tired of hospital coffee and the chair she slept in that made her neck ache. She walked out into the empty hallway and found Percy sitting in a chair, tilted forward, holding his head in his hands. 

She hesitated for a long minute, watching him, a strange achy feeling in her chest. Then she quietly sat down next to him. “Hey.” 

He looked up, but kept the same posture. “Hey.” 

They were quiet for a moment. Eventually, Annabeth looked at him. “How are you?” 

He shrugged, looking at his hands. 

She reached out and rubbed his shoulder, then moved her hand down his arm to rest on top of his own hand, squeezing hard. 

It felt easy, like the most natural thing in the world. 

He let out a long exhale and leaned back, his head resting against the wall, keeping his hand under hers. 

They listened to the clock tick on the wall, to the distant sound of beeping and nurses shuffling, of a door clicking softly shut. But mostly, it was quiet. 

Annabeth took a deep breath. “You know, Gracie’s getting discharged tomorrow—” 

“It’s not just Gracie.” 

Annabeth stopped, looking at him. She didn’t know what to say, and apparently he didn’t either. He looked at the drawings on the wall across from them, his eyes tired, and said nothing more, so she didn’t either. 

And then his hand shifted under hers, so it was palm up, and his fingers intertwined through the empty spaces between her own. 

Her heart jumped. His hand was solid and warm, his palm—or her palm, she supposed—felt like a livewire of tingles and warmth, like there was a connective thread that went from their laced hands to the bottom of her toes. 

He cleared his throat, his voice so low and soft it was almost part of the faintly beeping machinery. “I miss you.” 

Her heart caught in her throat, her whole chest swelling so she couldn’t speak, could barely even think. 

The air around them felt charged—it was _always_ charged, if she was being honest with herself; whether they were fighting or not speaking or calmly discussing Gracie’s bedtime.

He kept his eyes on their hands, slowly tracing his thumb across the sensitive skin of her wrist, sending titillating shivers down her whole body. 

His voice was slow. “Do you think—” 

But what he was going to say, she didn’t know. Because neither of them heard the elevator doors open and close; neither heard the footsteps, or remembered that visiting hours went late on Thursdays. Neither looked up and saw Bree standing at the end of the hallway staring at them, until she’d cleared her throat loudly and uncertainly—and then they both looked up. 

Annabeth felt Percy give a little start. There was a long, strained moment as Bree seemed unsure if she should come closer, and Annabeth realized her hand was still in Percy’s, and then Percy ended it by getting up and walking over to Bree, his stride long and quick. He said something, and they disappeared together around the corner. 

Annabeth didn’t move. She knew she should get up and go back to Gracie’s room, or call Piper, or take a walk of her own, but she remained glued to the chair, feeling like lead. There was a hard feeling in the pit of her stomach that seemed unlikely to resolve itself. 

And then, before she could decide what to do next, Percy reappeared—alone. His face was hard to read; a little dark, a bit of a scowl. 

He walked straight back to the same chair and sat down, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. 

“Hi.” Annabeth said, even though they’d just seen each other. 

He said nothing. 

“Where’s Bree?” 

He tapped his foot against the linoleum, face still dark. “She left.” 

“I’m guessing you didn’t know she was coming.” Truly, Annabeth had no fucks left to give. 

“She shouldn’t have come.” 

Annabeth didn’t know what to say to that. The air between them was still the same; magnetic, electric. It wasn’t anything different—it was that she was acknowledging it, now. Admitting to it. 

Giving _into—?_

Abruptly, Percy stood, running a hand through his hair. “Come on, let’s go get some more terrible coffee.” 

Annabeth looked up at him for a moment, his subdued posture, messy hair, moody face—then stood, and followed. 

And a minute later, when he silently took her hand, she silently let him.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Gracie was discharged the following day, with a glowing report. She was worn out from the tests and needles and strangeness, her energy low. 

Everyone’s energy was low; it was a subdued, quiet, rainy Friday afternoon. Whereas before something had been closed off between Percy and Annabeth, it was now the opposite, their blocked line hacked cleanly open by the terror of the hospital in the middle of the night, rubbed further away by the ensuing intimacy of not knowing what would happen, of recovering from the fear. 

Before, there had been layers of debris to quiet the vibrations; now there was only raw, unrelenting clarity. 

The rain poured down on the sidewalk, washing everything and everyone away, bulleting off umbrellas and gathering spectacular puddles. They ran to Percy’s car, him carrying Gracie, Annabeth holding a jacket over her head; Percy tucking them both inside and starting the engine and the heater. 

They didn’t speak in the car; the rain hammered the roof, hammered the windshield, bounced off the tires and made a tide through the street. It was too loud—matched with the noise from the heater, the rhythmic swish of the wipers, and the undeniable _hum_ in the air that buzzed through the small space, it was all enough. It was almost too much. 

She tried not to look at him, because whenever she did, she caught fractions of things, too close up; never the whole picture. Never a safe distance. His tanned throat as he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing; the lean, defined muscle in his shoulder; the way a piece of his hair curled the wrong way by his temple. The worn part of his jeans. His big, capable hands. 

She felt him glance at her, too. She felt him feel it back. 

When they got to her apartment, he pulled up to the curb; the idle zone. The “only stay five minutes or else” zone. She got out of the car, and he did too, unbuckling Gracie and carrying her straight up. 

Annabeth stayed right where she was, staring at the yellow paint on the curb, at the warning sign, at the car that wasn’t even parked straight. The New York street was gray with rain, like the sky had cracked open, like Zeus himself had unleashed his raw control. She was instantly drenched, not remotely bothering to avoid it. 

And finally, there was a voice behind her. “What are you doing?” 

She turned and looked at him. “Oh, hi.” 

He stared at her from the building step. “Gracie’s asleep. She shouldn’t be alone. Why are you still out here?” 

Annabeth swallowed hard. “Why did you park in the idle zone?” 

“What?” 

_“Why_ did you _park_ in the zone that means you have to leave right-fucking-now? That means you have to leave _again?”_ Her voice was rough and jagged, like she’d swallowed glass.

He came off the step, straight up to where she stood, the rain instantly darkening his t-shirt and dripping off his hair. 

“What are you talking about?” 

He was right in her face—or she was right in his, rain dripping into both their eyes. 

And just like that, she broke—or kept breaking, maybe. Or maybe didn’t break at all, but stepped into what they’d both been searching for and searching for and were too stubborn and too terrified to see. 

The truth. 

She shoved him, pushing his chest, frustration and desperation and everything, everything spilling up and over and getting everywhere. 

_“Why_ do you _keep_ fucking leaving? Why did you ever? Why did you let me—why are you—why did—why can’t you _love—”_

He grabbed her wrists, not gently; his face was an inch from hers, his voice equally rough and demanding. 

“You told me to _let go,_ Annabeth—” 

“You said it first!” She tried to shove him again, but he was still holding her wrists. “But it doesn’t matter—it doesn’t fucking matter—I’m so sick of the _past shit—”_ Her voice broke. “But you aren’t—you don’t—” 

And then her voice was silenced, cut off—because he had grabbed her, and kissed her. 

It was electric and firm and rough and not warm, but as hot as a smoldering furnace. And there was no more thought; no more decision. No more of anything in the world except him holding her steady and strong, prying her mouth open under his, the rain making their clothes cling to their bodies on the sidewalk. 

And then there was the door, and the hallway, and the stairs, but Annabeth didn’t remember them. There was the dry, quiet apartment, and there was the rain hammering from the outside, and there was her bedroom—their old bedroom—and the bed. Their bed. 

It felt like time had stopped; like everyone else had ceased to exist, the world, perhaps, to have stopped turning on its axis. All that was real was the secluded safety of the little room, the charged buzzing in the air, the rain on the window, and the heat that burned low and hard between them, inside them. 

And yet they didn’t stop, didn’t slow—didn’t ask questions or give answers. 

His lips burned where they connected with her neck; the soft place where it met her shoulder. Her rain-drenched shirt peeled off slowly, deliberately, under his hands; and then his, under hers. He unhooked her bra, finding her nipples hard and erect for him, and he took them in his hands, rolling them between his fingers, causing her to moan out loud. He swallowed her moan with his firm mouth, hungry and needy, like he was eating her for his last meal.

He backed her toward the bed and she pulled him with her, refusing to let go; it hit her knees and she fell back, and then he was on top of her, and she could feel how hard he was, and the burning intensified a hundred-fold, a fire in her stomach, in her limbs, in her blood. It was going to devour them whole. 

They finished undressing each other, and then he was kissing her neck, licking inside her ear, biting down her collarbone, taking her breasts in his mouth as she arched her neck backward into the pillows and didn’t stifle her moans. He kissed down her body, slow and worshipful, kissing her navel, her hips, and finally her burning center, her hands curling into the sheets. 

He licked her firmly, deliberately, while she panted and moaned—and then he stopped, because she was too close already, they were both too close already. 

And he was back on top of her, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, heavy and strong and rough. 

She raked her hands down his back, not gentle either, as his mouth returned to hers, kissing her slow and long and deep and sweet and burning; she bit his lip, and in response he grabbed her thighs hard enough to bruise. 

Their need was primal, carnal; her legs fell open to him as they had a thousand times before, and he buried his face in her neck, biting down on her shoulder as he entered her. 

And suddenly no time had passed since the last time they were in bed—there was no hesitancy, no uncertain fumbling. He knew _exactly_ what to do. And so did she. 

It was burning and heaven and hell and fervor and sweetness and sin and home and ecstasy. 

It was the sea, unrestrained. 

It was their own planet, their own fire, their own ocean. 

The opposite of lonely.

 _You cannot tame the ocean._

The opposite of space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. It's been a joy to write. This is the last official chapter. As always, you know I want to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> Also, I know there may be some controversy in this chapter, and that's okay, but please keep in mind that while I mostly use canon as a guiding light, these characters in this story are acting how they would act *in this story*--not necessarily the books or anywhere else.


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